The Men behind the Man
by Chubs34
Summary: What happens after a man's view is torn asunder? Does he fight for the same values or for a colder set of ones? Or does he find a new set altogether? Join the Lone Wanderer on his new tale to discover who he is. Now accepting OC's, please read inside for the rules regarding them. Deceitful Contingency's next story.
1. Chapter 1

Hello Wastelanders, Chubs34 here. To anyone who's read my previous stories, you know what this is. This is my late chrismas gift to you guys. I've already taken and begun planning for a few OC's, and I'd like more to come in.

Keep everything within reasonable measures. I'm not writing Mary Sues here. If you think your OC could be just as good with Combat Armor as with a Tactical Assault Gear ACC Agressor Armor Plate Carrier, then just say Combat armor. You can but small modifications onto it, such as a bit of extra plating, or a personal insignia. Your OC should be interesting for their charachter, not for their gear.

Please refer to a broad definiton of Occam's Razor as a rule of thumb: The simplest path is the best one.

_**Name:**_

_**Species (IE: Human/Ghoul/Super Mutant): No talking deathclaws though.**_

_**Race(Optional if going to put a Ghoul/Super Mutant OC):**_

_**Gender:**_

_**Sexuality:**_

_**Appearance: (Hair color, general skin tone, heavy/light build, face shape, anything you need to put in.)**_

_**Backstory: (IE: Wastelander who read the Wasteland Survival Guide and got inspired to be a hero, or something very deep. I will read anything you send to me)**_

_**Tagged Skills: (Three only(Also please specify how the got these skills. (On second thought, place this down in the "Notes" section)))**_

_**Special Stats: (Must be reasonable: IE S-7 P-6 E-7 C-4 I-4 A-4 L-5)**_

_**S:**_

_**P:**_

_**E:**_

_**C:**_

_**I:**_

_**A:**_

_**L:**_

_**Personality:**_

_**Karma level (And Al will work with evil chars. Just don't expect them to get along too well. And they will most likely be working for the greater good.):**_

_**Accent: (Optional)**_

_**Common Phrases:**_

_**Likes:**_

_**Dislikes:**_

_**Hometown:**_

_**Accessories (Must also be reasonable. If your guy has the Reservist's rifle, Col Autumn's 10mm, Sydney's 10mm SMG, and wears t-51b power armor, chances are, he won't be accepted. But if it's leather armor, a hunting rifle/lever-action/ assault, then he'll have a much better chance. Bonus points if it's a female char and she wears skimpy stuff. Please follow the rules above.):**_

_**Other notes (IE: If you want Al to have a a closer bond to this char, for them to teach him something)**_

_**Also, if you want them to go on a certain type of adventure (IE: DC escort to Rivet City, or Wasteland Wandering, or any other, please put a basic outline here. If it's interesting, I'll write it, if not, please do not be offended.)**_

_**It would be a huge help to have an Fanfic acc, so we could collaborate over any details of your char I need **_


	2. Chapter 2

I know I'm sorta trolling with this, but to the anon reviewer who suggested a love interest to Al, please fill out the form. It takes some time, but it does help me out tremendously. The form is all there, I've streamlined it as much as I can (It used to be more than 1k words) I cannot make it any simpler.

Also, to the other reviewer, the first one, also anon, this entire series has been about a Lone Wanderer of my desighn by the name of Al Sorenson. He's been beaten down a hundred times, and gotten up one hundred and one. He's a ittle shaken right now, but hopefully, he can make it through. It'll be tough, he'll need new friends and old ones, but it can definetely happen. He just needs someone to bear the weight with him.

Who the flying fuck is this "AI" asshole?

"Who will win Ai's heart? Amata or Serah, both women had hurt him."

"Poor Ai. He will show no mercy to Harkin or the people that tourtued him"

"Ai is pissed"

"I Look forward to the sequel. Please add lemon scenes. Sigh. It be simple if sarah and Amata share AI in some way"

"You should add a new love intrest, Oc, a Cold Hearted Mercarnary. She Have a neutrall to Good Karma. Human. Will be the one to take Ai's virginity, which will piss of Amata and Sarah . Ai and her will start as friends with benifits and may develop something deeper. With 2 or 3 Women atrracted or inlove with him"

I don't think you're on the correct story, so please, find the author who's been writing a story about "Ai" and make sure he knows your support.

That's about everything. Also, my New Year's Resolution is to troll people alot less. I've already failed...


	3. Old Ideas VS New Problems

Hello everyone. Welcome to the first story. This one takes place not after Deceitful Contingency, but rather early on in Al's life. Please welcome: Captain James "Sentinel" Witting.

O

Al pushed open the door, took a step inside of the cave. The door creaked open, hitting the wall eventually. Dust and light poured in from the outside. The cave was musty in odor, and he cringed in disgust. The cave had definetely been shelter to some people, as the stink of sweat, shit, and old food hit him. He pressed his Pip-Boy, and the light came on.

He shut the door with his foot, and walked around the area. It was a good size, enough for some people to take shelter in. He saw a few cardboard matresses lying about, and felt a tad lethargic. He shook it off, and stepped toawrds the back side of the cave. The light from his wrist hit a terminal.

He approached it, blew off some dust. He wiped off the rest, hitting a key inadvertenly. The terminal came to life, suprising the young man. He jumped back, and scowled at his own jumpiness. He muttered a foul word, and opened the interface. The encryption was tough, almost beyond Al's skills.

But like anything, it was Vault-Tec, so he had an advantage. His Pip-Boy gave him a list of passwords. He found a few patterns, deleted some entries. It left only four entries. One more chance than he had. His odds were actually pretty good. Vanguard, Vigilo, Virile, Papyrus.

He clicked on papyrus first.

ENTRY DENIED. 0 OF 7 MATCHED.

2 CHANCES UNTIL LOCKOUT.

He cursed. That was stupid of him. He kicked himself for choosing it. Scrolled to Vanguard.

ENTRY DENIED. 1 of 7 MATCHED.

1 CHANCE UNTIL LOCKOUT.

It was down to Vigilo or Virile. He scrolled to one, then the other. He couldn't make up his mind. He thought for a minute. Still nothing. So he resorted to an age-old method of choosing.

"Eeny Meenie Minie Moe," He muttered softly, his finger bouncing between the two. "Catch a tiger by the toe." He smiled and chuckled a little. He felt like a kid again. "If he hollers, let him go. My father," He cut out the "mother" for obivous reasons, "Said to pick the very best one and you...are...it!"

He scrolled to Vigilo, and clicked.

ENTRY CONFIRMED!

Al fist pumped into the air. See? Time-honored, age-proved method. The doors opened to an elevator, and he heard the engines begin to rumble. He went in, and a light went on from a motion sensor. He turned off his Pip-Boy, and pressed the DOWN button.

The ride was shaky, and Al felt nervous. Who knows how long this thing hadn't been used. That terminal didn't give any indication of being hacked previously, so it may even be from Pre-War installment.

That meant that this elevator was two centuries old. Possibly older. Al gripped the side tighly, and gulped.

As it hit the bottom, Al let go of the breath he was holding. He pried open the gate after the door opened, and lights came to life. the sight was astounding. A small area for rest was in one corner, a couch, a kitchen, a few weights. In the other, an arsenal of PRe-War weaponry, all in astoudning condition. Ammo boxes lined the shelves, as did canned food and water.

Al smiled. He had hit a motherload today. That smell was totally worth it.

He wanted to go and collect, but another terminal caught his eyes. He turned towards it, and it blocked the way into another room. He approached, and found that, after connecting, it was about as hard as the first terminal. After another few patterns and lines of code, he was left with six entries. He frowned. This was gonna be tough.

Conclave, Master, Canada, Monster Conrad, Confido.

He chose Conclave first. It sounded like "Enclave," that big radio station with President Eden on it. After it taunted him by denying his entry, he chose Canada. A bit closer. One left.

He figured it wasn't Master or Monster, so it was down to Confido and Conrad. He didn't want do anger the Eenie Meenie lords, so his went with logic. The last was Vigilo, a latin word. It was either watch, or something dirty. Confido was definetely trust. So...trust in your private parts?

Or "Trust the Watcher?" Al shrugged, seeing the obviousness of the theme they were using.

He pressed on Confido, and the Terminal rewarded him with an approval. The door opened, and he stepped inside. A few dim lights on terminals hummed, but none enough to see anything. He turned his Pip-Boy light back on, and took a right. He approached the first tube. He could make out what was inside from the ice. But he logged onto the terminal, and it was a list of life signs.

All negative. This person had been frozen, and for whatever reason, had died. The name was LT. Keyes. Al shook his head. The name meant nothing to him. He toured the other four pods, and all read the same. Negative life signs. He couldn't bring himself to look at the names.

But as he neared the last one, he simply wanted to leave. But then he figured he should at least check. As he logged on, it was different. When he checked on the life signs, they were positive. This man had been frozen. For two centuries.

And he was still alive.

Al back out, onto the main screen. He looked at the parameters. He found that all he ha to do was press the "Revive" command. The other only had a "Release" command. It must've know they were dead. His pod hissed and spurted cold air, or steam. Al couldn't tell which, as the suddenness of it had sent him sprawling to the floor like a total wuss.

He got up quickly though, to his credit. He was pretty sure that whoever was in there had no idea his savior could be scared by fast-moving air. He dusted his jumpsuit off, and searched for a light switch. He found one, and as he hit it, the pod opened up, hinging right.

Air billowed out of the cylinder, resting and dispersing along the floor. Al put a hand on his pistol, in preparation. In case this guy came out angry, he wanted to be ready. He heard a groan, low and strained. A hand landed on one side, and a boot lifted from it, plaed on the lower lip of the pod.

A man pulled himself up, toppling to the floor. He breathed heavily, shocked from his awakening. He knelt on the floor. After a moment, without looking up he tried to talk.

"Hen...He-...Henry..." He said. Al leaned in. Was Harry one of the other men? Bad suprise if he was. "Ac-...Acti...Activate."

A voice, smooth and distorted, came online. "Good morning, Captain."

"How long?" He asked, his voice returning.

Al, before "Henry" could answer, took his hand off his sidearm and answered. "Around two centuries." The man's head snapped up, and his hand went for his boot. There was no knife there, and he grabbed at air. He tried to stand, but fell. On his knees, he put his hands up in surrender. "I'm not here to harm you." Al said slowly.

"What's your name?" The man asked.

Best to try and make nice-nice. "Al. Al Sorenson." He crossed his arms. The man stood, shakily, but upright. He looked deep at Al, judging him. Sizing him up. After a moment of thought, he concluded that after two hundred years in the icebox, he'd be no match for the kid that stood before him.

"I'm Captain James Witting." He held out a hand. Without missing a beat, Al took it, smiled, shaking hands. "Xenos show up?" He joked.

Henry flickered again, now projecting a hologram. It was of a standard Joe, in military Pre-War uniform. "This 'Al Sorenson' does not match any known X-COM personnel, please refrain from discussing classified information. If anymore is leaked, Command will be notified."

"I know, I know. I just figured that anyone who made it this far would be here for a reason." He looked at Al hopefully.

"Naw. Sorry. I was just exploring. Found all of this." He apologized, shrugging.

He frowned. "Damn. All right. Have you woken up the others?" Al flinched. If he was military of some sort, then the others would've been his soldiers. After all the Pre-War War flicks he and Amata had watched were any indication, the bond between soldiers was tough to break.

Henry, however, spared Al the burden of the news. "I'm sorry sir, but the generator failed 87.5 years into stasis. The backup was brought online, but it didn't have the capacity to maintain life support for all pods. I was forced to de-activate Lieutenant Sarah Keyes, Gunnery Sergeant Micheal Witting, Staff Sergeant Tommy Fields, Corporal Jenny Connors, and Lieutenant Danny Hunt." He paused for a moment. "20.3 years after the generator malfunction, I was forced to divert power from auto-revival and my own systems to support your pod."

Witting hit the wall. His hand on his face, his other on his stomach. He rush over to Keyes' pod, checked everything. "Her pod was the last to go off." He said, looking at the terminal.

"I triaged power according to importance and rank. You were deemed the most vital, Captain." Henry said in a monotone. Witting slammed to the floor, hands supporting him. His face withdrew, leaving no emotion.

Al spoke up. "I'm...I'm sorry."

The Captain's head lifted. Anger sparked in him. Sorry? Sorry didn't count for shit! All his men, all his friends were dead! All because of some fucking malfunction! He wanted to rise and strangle the man, kill something for this tradgedy. His fist clenched, and he hissed.

But he let go. He knew that killing the first person in two centuries wasn't a good way to begin. He needed to get all the info he could. He stood, turned. "Let's go. I want to know what's happened while I've been napping."

O

"So it all went to shit, huh? No more government, no more nothing." He said flatly, trying to take it all in. Al nodded, sipping his bottle of water. "Well...fuck."

"Well, if you believe Enclave radio, then there's still something of America out there. Or it could just be a broadcast loop. Who knows." Al said, trying to cheer him up.

"Yeah. So what's your story?" He asked, wanting to escape his melancholy.

"Me? Shit. Well...I grew up in a Vault. It was paradise. No real problems, enough food to go around, enough old holotapes to life three lifetimes..." Al looked away, getting lost in nostalgia. He came back a moment later. "But then my dad left. Out of nowhere. Just gone. So I got kicked out after that, and now I'm looking for him. I finally bought some information out of a guy who knew where he was going. But where he went if infested with Super Mutants, so now-"

"Super Mutants?"

"Apparently. I haven't seen one personally, but they sound horrible. So I'm stocking up on supplies to make the journey."

"Looking for dad huh? I knew a few guys back when who did the same."

"It turn out good for them?"

"Not normally."

"Well, if that fails, there's always the Survival Guide."

Witting perked his interest up. "That is?"

"A book I'm helping this lady with. Moira Brown. Say's it'll be the first step to rebuilding." Al said hopefully. He believed in the idea, but not entirely in the execution. Still, he could learn a few tricks along the way.

"After a Nuclear Apocalypse? Not likely." Witting scoffed. Al frowned. He got the same reaction from everyone. There was just no way that one person could change the world. But Al, naively, thought that someone could.

"Well...the way she sees it, America is like a piece of broken glass. Sure, it may be ugly right now, but if someone were to take those pieces they may be able to do something good. You can't rebuild what it originally was, no. But you can make it into something new, that's just as good. Something beuatiful."

Witting smiled. Reminded him of Connors, all hopeful and innocent. But with that, at least he could do something good. "Huh." The Captain thought for a moment. He pointed at Al's pistol. "You good with that 10mm?"

Al looked at it. "Yeah, mostly. I'm OK."

He motioned upwards, standing. "C'mon. I'll show you how to hit a fly off of a pin." They went over to a small shooting range, leaving their drinks. Just a padded target, painted in the shape of a Sci-Fi generic green alien. Al gave a questioning eyebrow at Witting. He just pointed at it.

Al gave a shrug, pulled out his pistol. He took aim, and fired. It hit the target off left from the chest area. "Wrong!" Witing yelled. Al jumped a little.

"What is it?"

"Where do I start? Wrong footwork, you're too stiff, and frankly, it looks like you just picked up a gun a few months ago." He was closer to the truth then he thought. "Here." James Witting moved his legs to a proper position for small arms, one foot turned outwards and behind the other. He bent Al's arms a bit, letting the gun's recoil damp in the bend.

"_Now _try." He said, waving his hand. Al did feel different. But when he fired the 10mm, he knew it felt better than before. It was still off center, but his arms hurt less. "Breath out when firing." Al nodded. He took a deep breath, and as he exhaled, popped a round off. Closest to the center. Almost a perfect bullseye!

"Nice! Now we're getting somewhere!" He clapped. He went off, found an Assault Rifle. "Alright, now let's get into rifles." Al sighed. He frees some guy from eternity in ice, and now he's gonna get berated for something he had to learn on his own...

O

"So, what's with all the alien stuff, James?" Al asked as they ate dinner. It had been along day of training, and Al's shoulders and arms hurt from the recoil. They had gone over most conventional firearms, from revolvers to pistols, shotguns to sniper rifles, and even a few laser weapons.

Al was decent with the lasers. He was used to the recoil from guns, at least so far, so his aim was thrown off and his arms were more relaxed than nessecary. He stuck to kinetic weapons. The ammo had to be far more plentiful.

James sat up, suprised at the sudden question. "Classifi-..." He thought for a moment. It didn't really matter anymore. So why not fuck all the red tape? "I'm..._was_ part of a covert ops group. We went from place to place to investigate and defend from extraterrestrial activity." He said bluntly.

"So...you're an alien hunter?" Al asked incredulously.

"Yeah...I know how dumb that sounds." Al nodded enthusiastically. "Anyway, we were getting close to discovering some intel of theirs, enough to crack their codes. But then the bombs fell. You know the rest."

"So, wait. You _actually_ killed aliens?" Al laughed some.

"Very funny. We did, in fact. How do you think we got lasers or plasma? All just reverse engineered alien tech." James stated, arms crossed in a matter-of-fact stance. "And call me Sentinel. It's what they used to do."

"All right. So, Ja-...Sentinel, where are the bodies?" Al asked, pressing to annoy him.

"Area 51. Or up my drill seargent's ass. Could never figure it out." He joked, and they both had a good laugh. They joked around the rest of the night, really getting into just how ludicrous the whole thing was. But before they went to bed, Sentinel promised Al that there would be hell to pay for the jabs.

Oh, there definetely was.

O

Al grunted and huffed, pushed the bar from him. Two hundred pounds on the bar, and Al was up to fifteen before stopping. He had been strong enough before, but now, with the deathworld outside, he needed to be stronger. So they were spending the week in the bunker, training Al, shaping him to Pre-War standards.

Sentinel watched Al inattentively. He was thinking of his old squad. They had promised that when they were defrosted, they'd go Xeno hunting. Now, it was left to him. The last of X-COM, a lone guardian. He felt obliged to help the young man. If not for him, Sentinel would still be in the icebox.

But he had nothing else after that. Without a vertibird, or a means of monitoring an area, X-COM was basically dead. It was just him that held the memory. He could wander around, try and find the Aliens. Or he could join his squad. It was still up for debate.

"Cap for your thoughts?" Al asked, resting the bar above him. It irked Witting that Nuka-Cola was so damn important nowadays. He hated the fucking drink. Way too sweet for him.

"No." He lied.

"Bull."

"Yeah. Just...I miss them. All of them. Even that cocky prick, doctor Woods. I'm the last one. What the hell do I do?"

"Well...I don't know. But...I'd try and help people." Al replied, much to Sentinel's delight. Just like Connors. Young and inspiring. Shame what happened to her.

"Ah, I dunno." He muttered. "I'll give it some thought." Al smiled. He'd come around. "Did I say you could stop? Do you think that those wimpy arms could survive the Hell out there?" He ordered, half joking.

Al shook his head, grinning widely. He laid back down, and got back to his excersize. Just out of spite and for taking an unauthorized break, another fifteen pounds was put on both sides.

"Asshole." Al spat.

"Asshole...?" The older man rolled his hand.

"Sir, asshole, sir."

O

After their month of training Hell, Al came out as a fighting machine. He was stronger, faster, more perceptive, and tougher. He could handle most weapons on an average level, and even came out with some medical skills. No doctor business, but enough to patch up some scrapes and bruises.

As for Sentinel, talking more and more to the young man gave him some hope. Back in his day, most were assholes lying to get by. It was good to see that people were getting better, even if it did take the end of the world to do it. Talking to the kid was like talking to Kennedy, always just an inspirational and benevolent vibe.

Sure, he was a bit too naive for his own good, but he had grown up sheltered. He'd learn quick. He'd have to. Everything must adapt and change to survive. The static will be broken, the fluid will remain, ironically. And as a product of this deathworld, Al had good promise.

But speaking of static, Sentinel didn't know how to proceed. He was from a whole other time. One that was gone and dead, scattered on the winds and buried beneath the sand.

"Hey, Sentinel?" Al asked. He was drawn from his thoughts.

"What is it?"

"Mind if you help me out with the Guide some? I have to go to a fucking minefield to do some research." Al spoke, reluctant to lose his leg. The older man smiled.

"With my luck? We'll blow up a car with one mine and kill us both?"

"_Your _luck? I got kicked out of the one place I called home, had to gather one hundred caps to bribe soem old asshole, and then met a drill seargeant. I say, one of us will get blown up, trip the rest of them, and the other can just pick up what's left."

They both laughed. "Why not? Hey, but if I die, give me a good burial, ok?"

Al grinned slyly. "Don't worry, I'll pick the best sand to kick over your corpse." He snarked.

"Just for that, if you die, I'm gonna put your body into a stupid pose." He put a fist over his crotch to show Al what that position would be. They both laughed heartily, and headed northeast.

O

After an hour, Sentinel had to stop. He panted hard in his armor, sitting on the road railing. He hung his head low, and opened a bottle. He chugged half of it, then poured some onto his hand. He splashed it on his face, let the water cool him. Al scolded him.

"Hey! Quit wasting water!"

"Is it really that much of a problem? Can't they just get fixed?"

"Yeah, but that costs caps. And if they had caps, then they'd buy clean water. But they don't, so they have to drink that irradiated crap. There's some out there who can't drink because their bodies can't handle anymore radiation." Al glared at him.

"Whatever, fuck you..." He trailed off, not wanting to take any shit at that particular moment.

"What? Freezer burn?" Al snidely remarked. Sentinel repeated his previous statement. "Jeez, a potty mouth. And you seemed like such a n-_ice _guy!" Al grinned cheaply, chuckling at his own puns.

"Seriously? Fucking seriously? When did you become Mr. Freeze?" Sentinel scowled at the warrior-in-training.

"Hey, hey, hey!" Al said, putting his hands up defensively. Then a grin broke out, even cheesier. "Stay cool."

Sentinel sat up, straight as an arrow. "How many more of these you got?"

"A whole week's worth."

"Are you gonna use them for the rest of the walk?" He sounded tired already.

"If you get up now, I promise not to." Al leveled with him. He was up in a flash of movement, already marching.

"Man, where's a vertibird when you need it?" Witting muttered under his breath.

O

Al stepped up his pace to catch up to Sentinel. He tapped him on the shoulder to get his attention. "What's up?" He asked, noticably less pissed from Al's reenactment of Batman and Robin.

"I just wanted to ask..." Al thought about how to word it. "About what it was like...before..." Al waved his hand horizontally across their field of vision.

"Ah." He sounded. "Well, it was...It was great. I mean, sure, there were problems, but they were all minor. Instead of worrying if you were going to eat, you wondered about what to eat. Instead of worrying about your kids survival, you worry if they're making friends at school."

"You have kids?"

"No, naw. Wish I did though. I just got wrapped up in X-COM. But me and this one woman though, Sarah Keyes...we...we made some plans. You know? A house, two stories. A couple kids. It was totally against all standard regulations, but it was different. Aliens and shit.

"So we were allowed some leeway. I don't think we really meant it, just something to talk about. I guess, even if she was...still around." He paused. "I don't think we'd have kids. This place...I mean, you called it a 'Wasteland' for a reason." After a moment's silence, Sentinel look back at Al from the ground. "You? I mean, not kids. You're way too young. But you atleast got a girl back in the uh...the Vault?"

Al's face went a little red. "Yeah, sorta. W-We never _did it _you know, but..." Al trailed off in sadness. "If my dad hadn't up and left, I guess eventually we'd have settled down together."

"You miss her." Al nodded. "One more thing we have in common."

O

On the return trip from Minefield, Al and Sentinel stopped for one last meal. They sat in silence, neither knowing really what to say to the other. Al just didn't want to say goodbye to the man.

"Why do you have to go?" Al asked, almost pleading with Sentinel not to abandon him. "Why? What's so important out there?"

"Other X-COM operatives. We weren't the only bunker." He paused. Nowhere near good enough of a reason. "Look...I think that I could locate another pod. Nearby the D.C. area. But it'll take me a while to walk there. And you need to find your dad. You've alreayd wasted some time by training with me, and helping with the Survival Guide."

"But...I just..."

"I know. I don't want to go either. But if I always watch over your shoulder, you'll never grow, never improve. And to find your dad, hell, to survive out here, you'll need to learn how to do things the way this new world need them done. And I can't teach you that." He said, his eyes closed. He wanted to cut himself off, try and hide himself from Al's accusing eyes.

"Fine. Leave me. I...I'll be fine."

"Hey." Al looked up expectantly, hoping for a change of heart. No. "You finish that guide with that Moira girl. If it's any good, I'll come back and get your autograph. If not, I'll make you re-write it until its perfect. Got it?"

Al smiled. Genuienely. "Yeah. I got it."

O

Al never did see him again. From time to time, he wondered what happened to him. Maybe he'd found his X-COM buddies. Maybe he'd found the Aliens. Or maybe he'd gotten killed in a fight he couldn't win. Or maybe, he was in a bar somewhere, looking out for a certain book to float by.

Al hoped that it was that last one.

O A/N

Here's our first one-shot people. And done in record time! To Smeehan (who refuses to capitalize his own name), I hope you like it. To everyone else, I also hoped you liked it. Please, return to the first chapter, and submit an OC if you got an idea. Please remember to fill out the form completely.

I'll take any ideas. I'll also work with you to refine that OC into something truly unique. Or just message me, we'll have a few laughs. I'll respond to any questions you have as well.

Chubs out.


	4. A Wanderer's Goal

Look, to the Guest, please, make an account. I didn't mean to piss you off, I was only joking. And you did it again. "SORRY I MENT THAT JAMES SENTINAL IS A MENTOR TO AI SORENSON". But, in all seriousness, I was just fucking with you. So please, make an account, send me an OC, and let's have some fun.

Oh, and the guy who wants the lemons, make a charachter, and submit it. Then we'll see about it.

To everyone else, thank you for reviewing, I hope you enjoyed the last chapter, and now, without any further Author bullshit, allow me to introduce to you: Dante Broaden.

O

A month after the Lone Wanderer had defeated Harkin, he was finally ready to head out. Much to the dismay of his friends and doctors, but the man had a mission. Having his life almost stolen made him consider things he had missed out on. Ends that needed tying. He wasn't totally healed, but he was enough to make a trip and its return.

He had on leather armor. Nothing that would grind against his stab wound, or the plasma burns too badly. He had a plasma rifle on his back, a shotgun, and his pistol at his side. A knife in his boot, a pair of sunglasses over his cold gray eyes, and his hat atop his head. He wasn't as imposing a figure as in his dark green combat armor, but he was nontheless a force to be reckoned with.

Years of survival had taught him the skills he needed. Others had taught him the basics, Moira with a trial by fire, and another old friend, who taught him the wisdom of the old world military. And when it all comes down to it, a man can only rely on himself, not his weapons.

Just as he was nearing the gate, a hand on his shoulder stopped him. He turned, saw the black-clad man. Hollow shook his head, pointing to the Lone Wanderer's house.

"I'm done sitting on my ass, Hollow." He sharply said. "I can't just sit around and let those bastards out there get away with their actions."

Hollow scribbled on his board. _You need rest. Evil can wait._

"Yes, later. But they can commit more acts." The Wanderer shook his head, snapping. "Look, I'm just going to Tenpenny Tower, then coming right back. OK?" Hollow shook his head no, and underlined his previous sentence. "Look, go hang with Amata or something. She's taken a liking to you. I need to take care of something."

Hollow's head tilted, and seemed to sigh. His hand slipped off, and he stepped back. He shrugged, and reached into his back pocket. Handed him a few Stimpacks. The back of the Wanderer's mind forced guilt, the horrible emotion, onto him. The Lone Wanderer looked down, sighing as well.

Hollow meant well, he knew that. Maybe he didn't need to be such an asshole. But as soon as that thought entered his head, the new man regained control. All emotions were washed away, leaving the mission. Tenpenny Tower.

The Lone Wanderer stepped past Hollow, and exited the town he called home. He took a few breaths, gripped the pistol on his belt. He opened his eyes, and scanned the horizon. Nothing. Middle of the day. High noon. Worst part of the day. But best to jump right back on the horse.

The man started off westward, bearing south as well. He already knew the path. He knew far too many paths. He knew the safest one, which would have him go directly west, then turn sharp south after a few miles. The quickest would be a straight line towards it, as he was going. The most dangerous would be to go south, then west, crossing Fairfax ruins.

The cunning of his mind did not see the gain of glory in the danger. Just getting a loose end ties, the result, is what mattered. In that hyper-focus, the back of his mind called to him. What about people who need help? What about them?

Fuck them. The Wanderer, after his ordeal recently, was not in the mood for grand heroics. He'd tried that before, and it led him to breaking his moral code in half. Before Harkin, when it was Al Sorenson, not the Lone Wanderer, the man had dreams of a safe wasteland. Ideals of a land that shared his beliefs of general goodwill, a place that could be made wonderful.

Yes, many called him an idealist, naive, even stupid. But Al knew that if he just kept trying, gave all a chance to be better than they thought thye could be, they would take that chance.

After realizing that someone could take advantage of that kindness, and after having the ultimate test of forgiveness placed in front of him: Forgive the man who had destroyed his life, and then had the audacity to demand a second chance...

He'd failed that test. After forgiving for so long...something simply snapped. Now, with the truth of this God-Forsaken place burned into the Lone Wanderer's mind, there was no returning to that place of innocence, the land that could be turned into something perfect.

Now...it was hardly a place worth salvaging. Only fitting of the Regulator's definition of law: The bullet.

It was ruthless, cold, and cruel. But so was the Wasteland. It's in its own name. It's a wasted land, and all the people inside it was hardly befitting of being called human. The Lone Wanderer scowled at his revelation. How did he remain so naive for so long? How was this not cut off of him like a tumor before?

He had tried changing it passively, leading by example. But that was to no avail. So perhaps another route was in order. If he could not change it passively, why not actively. Rather than trying to change raiders into civillians, he would simply kill the raiders. If a problem could not be fixed one way, try another. It was that simple.

But questions for later. A battle is underway. Raiders versus an Outcast. A lone one. Laser rifle, juding from the blasts of crimson. He didn't get out too many, however, as the Raiders were pinning him down quite well. Two were advancing with shotguns, one a combat, the other a sawn-off, and the rest were providing covering fire.

"Look at me! I'm a big bad raider boy! Ohh!" He heard the Outcast shout, and take a potshot at his invaders.

Outcasts were easier to reason with than raiders. Plus, if the Outcast tries to insult him, the first of many karmic retributions will be enacted.

He pulled out his plasma rifle, and started advancing. He took one shot at them, hip firing. The green flew at them, and splashed at the covering team's feet. They turned, shouted at their comrades, and focused fire on the Wanderer.

They were terrible shots. Each of them. Sand kicked up around me, no more than five feet from him. He shook his head in distaste, and aimed now. He fired, and it hit a raider using a hunting rifle. The other two were using a submachine gun and a pistol. No threats. He felt a few shotpellets hit his leather armor. No penetration. Too far for that.

The Lone Wanderer turned his icy wrath on the shotgunner. The next shot hit him square in the center of mass. His body melted, and the sawn-off shotgunner lost heart. And his bowels. He ran. trying to find cover in front of a mailbox.

The remaining paced off from one another. Harder to shoot. _Slightly_. Two shots, two kills. The last one cowered in his own shame. The fallen angel of hope approached him, his shadow falling on him. The Raider looked up, squinting. The Wanderer only just blocked enough sun to leave his shilouette. The black figure, framed by light, loomed over his head.

Judge, Jury, and executioner.

"Please...let me live..." He whimpered, almost crying. Shows his true colors. A killer, reduced to a sniveling, shaking mess.

The Wanderer spat on him. "You have ten seconds to get out of my sight, runt."

"B-but...it's all flat here! I can't hide!" He pleaded, scrambling for salvation. With cold eyes and a calculating voice, the Wanderer began to count. Loudly. The Raider's eyes widended, and he scrambled away.

Once he hit his stride, the leather armored man stopped counting, but his sights on the man, and pulled his trigger. THe plasma that used to be a man steamed in the D.C. sun.

The Wanderer placed his rifle back on his six. His unflinching gaze shifted to the Outcast, who was slowly raising himself. No, not an outcast. His armor was black with yellow, a Brahmin skull on the shoulder. Armor he recognized. And a hat as well.

"Ashur?"

"No. The name's Dante. Dante Broaden. Regulator, ex-slave. Excellent lover, if I do say so myself." He chuckled at his own joke. "Not that you'd ever figure it out." The Wanderer grunted in response. Humor drained with his idealism. "And you would be?"

"The Lone Wanderer."

He smiled, clapped. "I had a good hunch it was you! The hat, you know?" He pointed to his own sheriff's hat.

"Where'd you get yours?"

"Reward from a big bounty. Got promoted up to the rank." He mentioned off handedly. As if he had any authority over the Lone Wanderer. "Anyway, I'm actually trying to get this bounty round south here. Mind helping me?"

"Where is the mark?"

"Nearby Tenpenny Tower. That's your stop?"

"Yes. Unfinished buisiness." He said calmly.

"Sounds mysterious. And fun. Let's shove off then." He picked up his laser rifle, tilted his hat, and motioned for walking. The Lone Wanderer, being a good bit taller, took point. Not out of authority or pecking order, but by way of longer legs.

O

"I'm already sure you know enough about me." The Lone Wanderer said to his companion. "Three Dog makes sure that every movement I take is docuemented to the best of his abilities. But what's your story?"

Dante smiled. "That is a tale of adventure, romance, the supernatural, and the heartbreaking. A tale that you are well familiar with in your own life, and one you don't need to hear again."

"I asked."

"Fine, fine." He said, putting his hands up defensively. "You've beaten it out of me." He cleared his throat. "See, I grew up in the Pitt. I was a lucky one, I didn't get infected too bad as a kid. But I could fight well enough. So I sighned on for Ingot duty. I got enough for some good gear, like the armor and rifle, and fought my way to freedom.

"I'm supposedly on a slaving raid since Paradise Falls was killed off. But I'm not going back. I hated being a slave, and I'm not going to allow anyone else to become one. And I'll be damned before I put someone in chains."

"So you're a real knight in shining armor right?" He said with a dull hint of sarcasm.

"No. That's more your thing. I'm actually none too friendly around wastelanders."

The Lone Wanderer stopped and turned, an incredulous look on his face. "You just told me your life story, and you're 'none too friendly' to strangers?"

Dante shrugged. "Well, you _did_ just save my life like thirty minutes back. And you're a Regulator. Ooh, and there's one more thing! Oh, what could it be?" He scrunched his face in overacted memory. THen it hit him, in mock discovery. "That's it! You're the _Lone Fucking Wanderer_. You're like the most trustworthy guy around!"

"Yeah..." He replied in a half-hearted way. "So, how'd you survive the revolution in the Pitt?"

"Oh, I just stayed out...of the..." He trailed off into thought. Then Dante glared at his fellow regulator with an accusing, predatory look. The 'none too friendly side' had showed. "How do you know about that?"

The Lone Wanderer scolded himself mentally. Stupid to bring it up. Now he may have to kill the young lad. "I was there." He admitted.

"And?"

"I was on Ashur's side." He heard a rifle be unholstered, and turned again to look. Now that laser rifle from the Pitt was trained on him.

"So you were the false savior that Wherner brought! You bastard! You saw what it was like! The sickness, the cruelty! And you, the Lone _fucking _Wanderer, protector of the innocent, the Last, Best Hope for Humanity, just walked off without unleashing divine retribution? Why?"

Al chose his next words carefully. "There was a little girl."

"So what? There were far _more_ children than just one!"

The Lone Wanderer kept calm, hands at his side. Face nuetral. "Wherner didn't tell me I'd have to orphan a child."

"And that makes it ok to let slavery continue?"

"No. But I never knew my mother. Do you think I could take anyone else's parents away when I never got the chance to know one of mine?" It was an armor-piercing question. It shook Broaden visibly. He looked down, sullen.

Dante lowered his gun. "No." He raised it again. "But...Wherner was our only hope!"

"No, he wasn't. If you remember, he was never a slave. He was one of Ashur's top dogs. It'd have been less of a new regime, more of a change in management."

"That's not-"

"True? You know what Wherner did when I told him that I wouldn't kidnap a little girl?" Dante shook his head. "He said fuck it. Fuck the salves, fuck Ashur, fuck me, fuck the Pitt. Rather than fight to the end for his beliefs, he just gave up and crawled away. He didn't care for the slaves. He just wanted power."

"But if Wherner was in charge..."

"Nothing would change. Just one more atrocity on a heap of others. Ashur is working on a cure. But he won't hurt his own kid. Wherner would hurt a baby." That pressed Dante's button. The Lone Wanderer figured out his weak point, and that was children.

He sunk. Face, body, all. That dream of his, that utopia, was gone. He was just force-fed reality. Both of them. Dante and Al.

The Lone Wanderer felt a prick of shame too. With his harsh words, he crushed another man. He put a hand on Dante's shoulder.

"It's not the answer I expected out of you, Al." Dante spoke. "I had atleast hoped he'd forced you to do it. Bribed you with money, women, something. But no. You did it out of your own volition."

"I did it for the Greater Good."

"So did America when they launched the nukes."

Now that one pierced the Lone Wanderer's armor. That could be true. If he validated all his actions through the greater good, where did that leave him? He knows what they say of the road to Hell is paved of.

But he dismissed it, before it ate at him too much. What he was to do was less about the greater good, more about personal satisfaction. Revenge over reason. That cold part of the Lone Wanderer's mind pulled him towards the looming tower, like a moth to a flame.

That goal, that target in the monument to all of the past's sins, was all the combined willpower and focus the the hero could muster upon it. Nothing would stop him from this. If it happened to result in a good deed, then it was collateral damage.

Sometimes, you just need to fix a problem.

O

I'm really sorry that took so long. I've been busy with classes. But, like I said, to a few of the guests here, I just like to play with my audience. And to the lemon guy, make an account (Preferably with the name "Lemonguy") and fill out that characther form. I'd like to see your idea.

To everyone else, the rest of this tale will be added on later, or put into a new chapter altogether. I just really wanted you guys to get an update.

Chubs out.


	5. Wanderer's Goal, pt 2

Anyone seen that "Commisair Criticism" guy back on Deceitful Contingency? His reviews? So damn funny. Anyway, let's get started.

O

Dante and the Lone Wanderer walked in silence. They could now see Tenpenny Tower, plain sight. It was a straight shot, and neither one could spot any enemies along the way. The Lone Wanderer shifted minutely in his armor. His wounds and ribs still hurt, and the tightness of his armor wasn't helping.

Dante's armor, which was reminiscient of Ashur's own armor, he had earned from collecting ingots. His laser rifle as well. They were worn, but sturdy. He put a hand through his black hair. It was messy, unsettled. He rotated his neck, popping the bones. He looked around a little.

"You need something?" The Wanderer asked. He was decent enough at telling when people were uncomfortable.

He smiled meekly. "Yeah..." He began. "Happened to the hand?" I looked down at my right hand. I didn't have the polymer coating on, to hide it. I'd forgotten. Or I'd stopped bothering, not caring to even mask that inhumanity.

"Enclave. Nuff said." I replied curtly. He chuckled akwardly.

"Y-Yeah." He looked down. THen back at me. "Is it true that the Brotherhood has a cyborg?"

This question made him stop. It took him a second to remember the only other one than him was...

"Cross. Star Paladin Cross. She's one."

"Yeah, so they do." He looked a little angry. "I'd never let them do that to me. Wouldn't mattter if I got a new super-arm or a...an extendo-dick, I just wouldn't let them do that to me."

The Lone Wanderer turned fully. He was laughing some from the extendo-dick (trademarked, it's fuckin' mine), but outwardly he was ignoring it. "Sounds like you aren't too fond of the Brotherhood."

"No, I'm not." He said strongly. "They came to the Pitt, and just salvaged it. They took everything of use to them, and left the city worse off than it was. Didn't even bother to try and help. Bastards."

"I'm one of them you know. Or, sorta." He shrugged. "I tried to quit, but the Elder wouldn't let me."

"Right. There's the change in management. Good riddance. The new one might atleas-" He was cut off before he could finish the sentence. The Lone Wanderer's gun was beneath Dante's chin in a flash. The older man gulped, staring into the steel-gray eyes of the Lone Wanderer.

"You may express your _distaste _for th Brotherhood. You can even insult Cross, but _you will not_ say _anything_ about Lyons. The things he did, what he sacrificed for the Capitol Wasteland is more than you'll ever do. He died from my mistake, and he died a good man." The Lone Wanderer coldly hissed his tranquil fury at Dante. He leaned in closer, lowering his voice even more.

It only made him more terryfying, his harsh, piercing look.

"Am. I. Clear?"

"Yep. Totally. One hundred percent." He quickly said, covering his skin. He felt the warm metal leave his chin, and he let his breath go. He rubbed his mouth, and after his assailaint turned his back, glared and shot him the bird.

"Very nice finger." He said, without turning around. Dante looked at his hand, confused.

"Hey!" He said, holding up his hand. "How many fingers am I holding up?"

"Four." Dante, closed his four upturned fingers, looked at the Lone Wanderer with wicked suspicion. He shook his head, and jogged forward to catch up with the hyperaware legend.

O

They continued onward for another half hour before finally reaching the tower. The ghoul guard smiled, waved him in. The gate opened for them, and they walked inwards. Al opened and held the door, Dante thanking him. A few of the ghouls smiled and waved hello. The Lone Wanderer did not return it.

They climbed into the elevator, and pressed the top button. It moved slowly. The duo of uneasy friends shared an uncomfortable silence.

Dante broke it. Al'd have been fine with the quiet. "So...I heard that you were a helluva lot nicer in the past. What put a stick up your ass?" He asked crassly. The Lone Wanderer looked down at his boots, pondered his response.

He sighed. "In the past month, I had to Old Yeller my best friend who killed my girlfriend's father, and watch previously mentioned girlfriend get all loveydovey with this dude-who-looks-like-a-lady named Gary. My home was almost taken over by the Enclave, all my friends almost died in there, and I got stabbed in the side." Al went over his mental checklist. "And I got brainwashed." He looked cross and head titlted at Dante, who looked directly ahead.

"I can..._comprehend _your..." He clicked his tongue. "Bitterness." He chose his words carefully.

"Good."

Another moment of silence. Eventually, Dante broke out into humming a tuneless song, bobbing his head and patting his sides. After seven seconds of that, the Lone Wanderer glared daggers at him. As the doors opened, Broaden finally noticed.

"What?" He questioned innocently.

"The humming." Al said. "Why?"

He shrugged half-heartedly. "Elevator music." The Lone Wanderer shook his head in disdain, shuffling out of the older man followed him to one of the closed doors. They could hear sounds emanating from the other side. THe Lone Wnaderer took his fist and banged on the door. They waited for a response. The sounds stopped.

After a second, he banged again. "Go away." A voice, muffled, and ghoulish, yelled. And then he banged harder on the door. "Fuck off, I'm busy."

The Lone Wnader stepped towards the door. "Open this fucking door _right now_ or I'll kick it off it's hinges." He warned, not yelling, but loud enough.

"Gimme an hour." The voice said again. Al glared, his muscles tensed up. He took one step back from the door, and with one kick in the right spot, the door flew off one hinge, and Al ripped it off the second one. They heard a woman, a ghoul, scream, and cover herself with the sheets. The voice, a male ghoul, started cursing.

"Bessie, leave." Al ordered, and with her dress covering her nude corpse, she sprinted out, embaressed due to the intrusion of another type. Roy propped himself up on his elbows, pissed.

"The fuck man?" It took him a moment to register that the men standing in the doorway, one of them was Al Sorenson. "Al? That you, you sunuvabitch?" He laughed. "Knew it'd take more to put a bastard like you down for good!"

"Yeah." Al chuckled falsely. "Get some clothes on. Now." Roy smirked and complied, muttering something. He only got some pants on, before turning to meet Al.

"What can I do for you?" He schmoozed at the Lone Wanderer, openeing his arms. He frowned.

"It's not what you can do for me, but what I can do for me."

Roy laughed again, and crossed his arms. "So you needed to _interruptus_ my _coitus _to tell me that?"

"Yeah. I did." Al drew his gun, and Roy tensed, as did Dante. He leveled it onto Roy's face.

Roy was now cautious. "The fuck you thinkin', smoothskin? Put that thing down 'fore you hurt someone!"

Al cocked his head, and his gun. "'Fraid that's what my plan is, Phillips. I'm here to repay a debt."

"The fuck you owe me?" Roy asked.

"A betrayel." The Lone Wanderer said, the unforgiving nature of the Wasteland sun in his voice.

"What? When?"

"Years back, when I talked your way into this place. It's been way too long since I let you go unpunished for that, you snake." Ice dripped off the Lone Wanderer's voice, his blood was hot, and his hand steady. "Today's the day."

Roy attempted to reach a pistol, but the Lone Wanderer had already pulled the trigger. The .44 buried itself into Roy's leg, and he tumbled to the floor, breaking his nose. He rolled over, one hand on his leg, the other on his nostrils. The legend fired again into his other leg, then two into his stomach.

Roy yelled out in agony, his hand flew free. Blood poured down his chest, without his hands to staunch the flow. The Lone Wanderer stomped on Roy's legs, a sickening crack identified the borken femur. Roy screamed now. And his murderer simple stomped again and again onto his stomach, breaking ribs, organs, and bruisng him.

After a minute of that, Al let off. Roy choked up blood, and tried to form words. "M-...M..."

"Speak up."

"M-...Mer-...Mecry..."

For the first time in all of this, the Lone Wanderer had kept his calm. His face never changed emotion, even as his blood boiled. But now, at that pitiful plea of a coward, a baby crying for momma, his visage registered anger. Rage. Hate.

"You didn't give Tenpenny mercy. Or Dashwood. Or anyone else. Why do _you_ deserve it?" His only reponse was a blooky gurgle. "That's right." The Lone Wanderer leveled his Blackhawk. "You don't." He finished.

_Bang._

Blood on the floor. Lots. Five casings. Sheets, shirts, clothes. And a body, dead twice over. The Lone Wanderer turned, his mission fulfilled, his debt repaid. No remorse, no pity. Dante looked on in horror. He had figured that losing so much could be stressful, but to break like this? Insanity.

Dante was brushed aside as the Lone Wanderer walked towards the elevator. "Stop right there, you murderer." Bessie held the man who'd killed her lover in cold blood at knifepoint. Al, with eyes sharper than the knife, stared her down.

"Don't." He spoke in a tranquil manner. As if he was telling a child to not pkay with something dangerous.

"You...you killed him...why?" SHe cried, her voice breaking in fear and confusion.

"He betrayed me." Simple as that.

"That's it? That's all? You gave us this place, and now you take him from it?"

"I didn't give it to you only. I expected you to live in peace with the humans. But he didn't. I found thier bodies, Lynn. I found them all. Only now did I figure out that I shouldn't give mercy to a bastard who doesn't deserve it."

She screamed and charged. Al caught her hand, twisted it. The knife fell from her hand, and she cried out at his fist met her gut. She doubled over, and Al grabbed her and threw her to the wall. She tumbled against it, crumbling in pain. AL took the back of her head and slammed the side of her head into the wall, knocking her out.

He drew his pistol, and began to squeeze the trigger. But he was stopped by Dante. "Don't. She didn't betray you." He closed his eyes, took a few dep breaths. He holstered his gun, and pushed her body to the side.

"You're right. Thank you." He stepped to the elevator, opened it, and motioned Dante to follow. He did, and the pressede the down button. After a moment, Al was the one to speak. "He who fights monsters should see to it that he himself does not become a monster. And if you gaze for long into an abyss, the abyss gazes also into you. Fredrick Nietzsche said that."

"I don't know who that is or what it means." Dante said honestly.

"It means that seeking vengeance or justice against evil people turns you evil by your continued quest for it. If I had killed Lynn, then I'd become a monster myself. If you weren't here..." The Lone Wanderer trailed off.

"I know. You'd become a worse guy than Roy, or whatever. You'd go around killing anyone who got in your way, up until someone you cared about tear-riddenly screamed that 'you're no better than Roy!' and you'd realize that you did in fact, become a monster." He said. He took a breath, then continued. "Am I right?"

The Lone Wanderer's eyes widended. "Yeah, that's probably how it'd go."

O

They left Tenpenny. Most likely forever. The Lone Wanderer knew he'd never be let back in when they found the bodies, and Dante never had a reason to go in the first place. So, after reaching a point to sleep for the night, they stopped. They didn't go to sleep at first. Too much to talk about.

"So...what was all that about?" Dante asked. He had no clue that he was to be witness to murder.

"Years back, I talked Tenpenny into letting the Ghouls buy some rooms here, with the rest of the human guests. Well, a few months later, less humans are there, and more ghouls are there. A year later, and there are no humans at all. I juat chalked it up to some sickness, all were bedridden. But then I looked in the basement. I tried to reason with it. They were assholes. But no one deserved that. But, I was outnumbered, and I didn't want to kill Roy, so I pussied out. Until now."

"I know. I was there."

"Yeah. Sorry." Dante asked for what the apology was for. "For making you see that."

"Pff. That's nothing. Some of the shit I saw back in the Pitt, now that's rough. I was a kid back then too." That didn't make his friend feel any better. "Look, if I wasn't there, than you may have killed that Ghoul girl."

"Bessie."

"Her, yeah. Way I see it, I just was there to help a fellow Regulator." He chirped easily.

Al chuckled. "Were it so simple." He rolled his neck, popping the bones, and laid back. "No. You made sure that I didn't become exactly like Wherner. So wrapped up in killing that I forgot why I fought in the first place. Thanks. Now, get some rest." Al rolled put his arms behind his head, and covered his face from the fire with his hat over his eyes.

Dante wanted to see if he could fool him again though. "Hey." He called. The prone hero shifted. "How many fingers?"

"Two."

"You looked." Al sighed, and put a hand over his eyes, under his hat. "Okay, cheater. Now how many?"

"Seven." Al spoke confidently.

"Fuck you."


End file.
